Death of a spirit guide

For a year or two circa 1986/7 I went through a phase of thinking I might have spirit guides who could assist me with such things as meditation and with my chosen purpose of learning how to leave the body and prove the soul.

I recall that new age and spiritual interest bookshops had an abundance of books about spirit guides and books supposedly dictated by spirit guides. At the time I read many of them. They were often written in sweet language with phrases like, “…my dear child, remember that we in spirit are with you always, even in your times of sorrow, sending you soothing love…”  I recall the spirit guides in some of those books were such people as wise American Indians, Tibetan lamas, Indian holy men, and long dead ancient Egyptian priests.

In my deepest meditations I would arrive at insights into certain matters. Vague notions would solidify into clear words and images. Understanding and clarity on certain issues would come. Spirit guides, I assumed.

But being one who is driven to know the truth of matters, it was only a matter of time before I would want to know more about these spirit guides.

I had previously spent a few years in Queensland, an Australian state with a warm climate, and my first winter back in Victoria was a particularly cold and harsh one, working outdoors as a farmhand in freezing wind and rain, heavily frosted mornings, a cold farm cottage to live in, and I was usually too tired after work to get the fire going.

I remember wearing ten layers of clothing, including two coats and a raincoat, hat, scarf and gloves and still being cold. The coldness went to my core, around the clock, day after day. I had chilblains on my nose, ears and the backs of all my fingers which cracked and wept clear yellowish fluid.

My evenings were spent in prayer, meditation, and physical, emotional and heartfelt discomfort. I was quite unhappy.

But there were good times and good things, green hills and nature all around, beautiful clouds and cold blue skies, frosty mornings and sunny winter days, occasional snow, and sitting on the ground sipping hot tea poured from a vacuum flask.

As always in life, there were amusements. I had a black tomcat for a friend and one evening when I lit the fire he walked into the fireplace and crouched down in the back corner beside the flames. For a few moments he looked pleased with himself, as if he had found the warmest seat in the room. Then he caught fire, jumped out of the fireplace and ran around the room smoking. Hehehe, that memory still gives me a chuckle.

But that is a digression. Back to spirit guides.

Coming out of winter, one evening in springtime, I sat on the floor on a cushion in the empty front room, rugged in blankets for some warmth, my back against a wall, looking across the empty room to the opposite blank wall. Here was one of my prayer and meditation places.

I commenced my breathing, identified myself as consciousness, located myself firmly in the head and drew myself deeper and deeper into my self the consciousness.

Deep inside, within and open, I felt that state where the insights come, where the guidance seemed to be. Steady I held myself. I felt? heard? the impressions of spiritual guidance.

Gently, so gently I tuned my awareness, like tuning a radio to a station. Gently tuning in. Tuning my inner senses, my inner ear and vision to the barely discernible target. There, I had it. Gently, so as not to lose connection, I took the initiative.

“No wisdom. Just answers. Who and what are you? Your motive, intention, your work, your purpose. Tell me.”

I sensed a wise saying coming and I cut it off.

“Who are you?”

I repeated it, smoothly, firmly, and intensely, leaving no space for the spirit guide to move. “Who are you?”

Before my mind’s eye I saw cracks develop in the spirit guide’s form. The cracks quickly increased in number, running throughout its form. Then it cracked to pieces, crumbled and disappeared.

I sat in the empty room, feeling somewhat disappointed, lonely, empty.

Was it real or imaginary? I did not know. I did not even care. I just yearned for truth, whatever the truth may be.

I went to bed. During the night I had an intense dream or vision. I saw above me a great golden light, like the sun, but bigger and brighter, and I could look straight at it. The light was alive and I was aware that it was aware of me.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I am you.” it said.

“You look like God.” I said.

“I am.” it said.

There was a pause, and then I asked, “How can I find you again?”

It replied, “I am always with you, within and above your conscience.”

The next morning was Saturday and I had slept in. When I awoke I could see by the glow on the old red curtains that the morning spring sun was shining outside.

I thought about the strange dream or vision, whatever it was. I felt as if a change had occurred within me, as if a corner had been turned, as if an understanding, long sought after, had at last been acquired.

I got up and opened the curtains and the sun shined in.